


Anchor

by Moosey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Because of course there is :), De-Aged Derek, Eventual Smut, Feels, Fluff, It bugs me how Malia and Kira are portrayed in canon, Kid Fic, M/M, Magic, Puppy!Derek, Really it does, Wolf Derek, post s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:22:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6554455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moosey/pseuds/Moosey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yeah?” he answered guardedly. </p>
<p>“Oh thank god. I need your help, seriously... I had to go back to visit my family in California and Cora’s brother offered to take me, I said okay and so we were taking a super long road trip, which was fine because he’s a quiet guy, and he never really seems to sleep all that much so we were making good time, but we were accosted in a parking lot just outside of Sacramento and I don’t even understand what happened because one minute they’re trying to drag me in to the back of a van, and they were so strong, and Derek was fighting to stop them and the next minute I wake up slumped next to the car with a little kid passed out next to me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first attempt at a chaptered fic, and will be updated periodically through the next couple of weeks. Feedback is ALWAYS welcome, because my stuff in un-beta'd. 
> 
> P.s - I'm now on [Tumblr!!](http://plebble-moosey.tumblr.com/)  
>  
> 
> Important puppy pic: 
> 
>  
> 
>  

Stiles was laying sprawled on the sofa, with his legs kicked up along the back of it, absently scratching at his stomach and clicking through the channels on the TV, images flickering past too quick for his mind to latch on to anything but the passing blur of light and shadow, accompanied by bursts of almost-sound. He’d spent the past few months on something resembling high alert, and he wasn’t sure how to adjust to this kind of down time. He could remember reading an account written by a US Marine, who had talked about how being in combat put you on red-alert, and then when it was over and you were back home again, everyone milling about on green-alert, sometimes your brain and your body didn’t understand that the threat was gone. It was how people ended up with PTSD, and that was something Stiles didn’t want to think about too hard, because he could feel the edges of his mind fraying with anxiety if he did.

Some things hit a little too close to home.

Still, he wasn’t about to look a gift-horse in the mouth, and he was trying to relax, on this sunny Saturday afternoon, the house empty and quiet around him. His dad was at work, and work had been routine enough since the Beast debacle that Stiles wasn’t worried about his dad’s safety right now. Scott was catching up on work with Deaton, because he’d (unsurprisingly) been slacking in that department of late, and still had his sights set on working as a veterinarian. Lydia and her mother were knee-deep in the midst of another massive mother-daughter bonding session, Natalie trying to work through her guilt at leaving Lydia in Eichen House and Lydia trying to convince her mother that she was where she needed to be, when she needed to be. Holes drilled in her head notwithstanding. Kira was in the desert still, having been off the radar for months. Scott hadn’t heard anything from her since those too-brief voicemails letting him know she was coming back, but she didn’t know when.

Surprisingly, Scott seemed to be okay without her, which made Stiles wonder how much longer it would be before him and Kira called it a day. Scott hadn’t ever been as consumed by Kira as he was by Allison, and it was her memories that had been front and centre in Scott’s mind when he thought he was about to die. Not Kira’s. It seemed like they were both biding their time right now, unsure of how to admit to themselves that maybe they just weren’t supposed to be.

Liam, Hayden, and Mason seemed to have bounced back from everything okay. It made Stiles feel a little old and jaded, that he didn’t have that same mental elasticity. A couple of years ago, and everything rolled off his back like water on a duck, but these days it felt like all the bad things wormed their way a little deeper, and he’d lost count of how many times he’d woken up on his feet, flailing upright at the slightest sound ready to go even before his brain came fully online. He didn’t sleep very well these days. Malia was doing whatever it was Malia did when she was by herself. Maybe roaming the woods as a coyote, terrorising little children, burning math books in an incandescent rage… In spite of their relationship, Stiles was never really sure what Malia did when she wasn’t around the rest of the pack. Sometimes it felt like she existed solely for contact with them, and beyond those moments, she ceased to be. Maybe it was the coyote in her, never fully committing to being human, to being a real girl.

And so, all were mostly accounted for, and life in Beacon Hills was rolling along fairly steadily, and Stiles could feel the peripheral sense of impending boredom crowding in on him as he stared absently at the flickering TV screen before him. He jolted a little when his phone rang, vibrating against side where it had fallen off of his stomach, swinging himself upright quickly and answering without checking the screen.

“Yeah?”

He was greeted by the sound of breath and quietly muttered curses in a soft feminine voice, along with slightly desperate shhhhh sounds. “Hello? Is this, uh, Stiles?”

Stiles pulled the phone away to check who was calling him, but it wasn’t a number he recognised. “Yeah?” he answered guardedly.

“Oh thank god. I need your help, seriously.”

She sounded young and panicked, but not in a life-threatened sort of way, so Stiles relaxed incrementally. “Who are you? And how do you know who I am?”

“I’m Carina. I’m friends with Cora?” she said, her inflection going up at the end so Stiles wasn’t sure if she was asking him if she was actually friends with Cora, or whether she was trying to gauge whether he knew Cora.

“Cora Hale?”

“Yes! Yeah, that’s the one. Hold on,” she panted, followed by a clattering sound like the phone being put down on a hard surface without care, and finally a hissed, “would you please just stop, oh God I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Carina?” Stiles asked, evenly in to the phone. If she responded, then he’d know she was a werewolf. Because he wasn’t on speakerphone right now.

“Yeah, yep, I’m here. Sorry,” she rambled, voice close to the phone again. “Okay look, I need your help.”

“You need to give me more than that. Is Cora okay? Why are you calling me?”

“I’ve been living in Costa Rica with Cora for a while now,” Carina started, pausing for a moment. “She’s my pack now,” she said carefully, and then went quiet as though waiting for his response.

It would be so much easier if she could come out and say ‘hey, yo, I’m a werewolf dude, but I’m a good one, don’t cut me in half,’ or something.

“Okay. She’s pack,” he said evenly.

Carina sighed, and there was another clattering sound, this time followed by what sounded like a very unhappy kid about to start wailing. “Shit,” Carina hissed. She started up with the shushing sounds again and then rushed out her story in what seemed like one long breath. “I had to go back to visit my family in California for my cousins wedding, and Cora’s brother offered to take me because he was getting antsy and he and Cora are… strained, I guess? Lot of history there that I don’t know but whatever, I said okay and so we were taking a super long road trip, which was fine because he’s a quiet guy, and he never really seems to sleep all that much so we were making good time, but we were accosted in a parking lot just outside of Sacramento and I don’t even understand what happened because one minute they’re trying to drag me in to the back of a van, and they were so strong, and Derek was fighting to stop them and the next minute I wake up slumped next to the car with a little kid passed out next to me.”

She inhaled on a great heavy rush and exhaled with a long, “fuuuuuuck.”

Stiles was quiet, taking a moment to process the influx of words, and just blinking as he ran them through in his head again. “Okay. Why, and how, are you calling me about this? Why not go to your family?” he asked.

“Because my family are overbearing and would take this as a sign that I can’t look after myself. And I went through Derek’s stuff, found a phone, and I just, I remembered hearing Cora asking about you guys. Scott and Stiles and some others. Yours were the only names that didn’t make him smell of loss, so I figured I’d call. Scott didn’t pick up. But you did, and I need your help. I can’t tell Cora I’ve lost her brother. I just can’t.”

“Where are you?”

“In the car. Still in the parking lot. I don’t know where to go. If I should even go. And I have this kid with me Stiles, and. I’m not a maternal person. Children scare me,” she hissed out. It made Stiles want to laugh, but he figured she wouldn’t appreciate that too much. Stiles ran up to his room and pulled up Google Maps and they pinpointed that Carina and the kid were about 5 hours away from Beacon Hills. Stiles suggested she find a motel room in the area, and try and get the kid settled, whilst he grabbed Scott and drove down. He wasn’t sure what good they would do, but they’d gone further to retrieve Derek before, and they’d do it again. It seemed to mollify Carina a little, though she was still wildly unhappy about the kid, and Stiles didn’t even know where to begin with that, but they’d figure it all out when he and Scott got there. He hoped at least.

He wondered what it said about him that this whole situation? Barely even registered in his brain. At least until he really thought about what it might mean that a bunch of super strong – strong enough for a werewolf to have noticed it – guys tried to kidnap one wolf and ended up kidnapping another in the process. Assuming Derek had been taken. None of it made any sense to Stiles, but he was fairly sure Derek would be okay. His whole life had been like the universe was throwing danger and death and destruction at him in turns, just trying to see what would stick. And so far, nothing had. The wolf had been beaten down again and again, but kept on getting up, getting his feet under him and carrying on. Stiles had wondered on more than one occasion if Derek was invincible. It couldn’t be luck. No one with a life that shitty could ever be accused of being lucky, surely. More like the universe was just playing with him like a cat with a spider. But that line of thought implied Derek was living on borrowed time, and that wasn’t something that sat well with Stiles, and maybe that lit a fire under his ass and got him to Deaton's in near record time. Maybe.


	2. Chapter Two

They pulled up to the motel as night was fully settling, Stiles parking the jeep with a pat to the steering wheel as he cranked the parking break before unfurling himself from the drivers seat with a groan. He stretched up, wiggling his fingers towards the sky, and then twisted his torso around to work out the kinks in his spine, then ducking back in to Roscoe to grab his drink so he could gnaw on the straw. Old habits died hard, and his oral fixation wasn’t going anywhere.

Scott was already sniffing around, walking towards the ugly squat buildings that surrounded one of those dubious looking pools synonymous with cheap motels. Stiles watched him go with a roll of his eyes, refraining from making a dog joke, and locked the jeep, even though anyone would have to be entirely out of their right mind to want to steal her. And yet. He loved her and would do what he could to prevent her falling in to the wrong hands. Roscoe was very much his baby. His Old Faithful.

He trotted over to where Scott was standing in front of a closed door with a confused frown on his face and what sounded like little rumbling growls coming out with each exhale, and gently pushed in front of Scott and rapped on the door with his knuckles. “It’s Stiles,” he announced, ignoring the way Scott was trying to elbow his way in front of him. Stiles may be the human here, but he didn’t need to be protected.

The door was flung open, and Stiles immediately found himself with an armful of girl. She was short, her head not even coming up to his chin, and she clung to him for a brief moment with a little too much strength before catching herself and stepping back. 

“Oh my God, thank God,” she nearly chanted, looking up at him with big brown eyes. She noticed Scott, and inclined her head at him in a little bob thing that looked vaguely submissive and respectful, and it must have soothed some innate wolfy part of Scott because he was no longer doing the rumbly growl thing, so that was a plus. Carina took a handful of Stiles’ shirt and hauled him inside the room, glancing back at Scott as though to make sure he was coming too, and led Stiles over to the bathroom, stopping in the doorway. 

There was ripped up tissue paper and random little bottles of cheap motel toiletries scattered on the ground, some featuring little leaking puncture marks, and the cupboard under the sink had one door hanging open with more chewy puncture marks in the lower corner. Stiles paused and cocked his head, in a move that was reminiscent of the wolves he ran with, and listened to the sound of quiet little growls coming from within the bathroom. He looked to Carina, but she just threw her hands up. 

“I told you I didn’t know what I was doing!” she exclaimed, backing up and bumping in to Scott with a wince. “I took him to the motel like you said and then suddenly I have an armful of puppy, actual puppy, and he bit me, the little shit, and ran in here and he won’t come out,” she whined, tugging a little on her long dark hair. 

“The kid turned in to a puppy?” Scott asked, incredulous. 

“Yes!” Carina cried, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t even know werewolves could do that, and I was born one!” 

“You didn’t know some could full shift?” Stiles asked, glancing back to the bathroom where the sounds had yet to cease. 

“Well I knew that. My dad is an Alpha, and he can full shift. And I know Talia could, and there are others, but they’re Alphas. As a kid? A pup? I’ve never heard of anyone full shifting that young. Ever.”

Something about all of this wasn’t sitting well with Stiles, but he figured he could parse it out later. For now, he stepped carefully in to the bathroom, hunkering down on all fours and edging closer with as much dignity as he could muster whilst crawling on the floor of a crappy motel bathroom. The growling intensified, but it sounded kind of cute, really. Still, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hand and forearm in case the little dude decided he looked like a nice snack or something. Stiles settled back on his haunches by the open door, and peered in to the cupboard, mouth dropping open as he saw a pair of pale blue eyes glowing at him in the darkness, tucked away in the furthest corner. 

“Oh Jesus,” he breathed, reaching in with his unwrapped hand slowly, forgetting his earlier caution, splaying out his fingers as non-threateningly as he could manage on the wooden shelf that the puppy was curled up on. The little wolf pup let out a sudden snarl and lunged forward as much as possible in the confined space, snapping his teeth, but in warning. He could have taken a chunk out of Stiles if he’d wanted to, but he hadn’t. It emboldened Stiles to edge closer, ignoring Scott and Carina as they protested and questioned him over the top of one another. 

“Come on dude, you know me. Come on,” he soothed his breath, relaxing minutely as the little wolf stopped his litany of growls in favour of a scared little pant that near broke Stiles’ heart. 

“Come on big guy,” Stiles said softly, reaching his trembling fingertips out further. He forced himself to hold still when a little wet nose bussed against his hand, taking a cautious sniff, the pup’s spatial awareness not good enough to stop before he collided with Stiles’ hand. He huffed out a breath when he felt a warm, rough tongue rasp across his index finger, and he sat back to look at Scott with wide eyes, not moving even when he felt tiny little puppy teeth begin chewing on the meaty part of his hand at the base of his thumb. He barely even winced when those little teeth dug in a little too sharply, knowing they weren’t drawing blood, but also supremely grateful little pup-Derek wasn’t an Alpha. 

Because it really was. The tiny puppy hiding in a cupboard was Derek. 

“Stiles?” Scott looked worried, inching closer, but it made the pup start growling again so Stiles halted him with a flapping hand gesture. 

“Dude, no. Stay put. Both of you.” 

“What’s going on?” Carina asked, her head popping out beside Scott’s shoulder. Not above it because she couldn’t reach. 

“It’s Derek,” Stiles hissed, making a little head bobbing, eye rolling gesture. 

“Derek,” Scott finally repeated flatly. 

“Oh my god. The kid was Derek,” Carina added on. “I didn’t lose him!” she sighed in relief, resting her head against the doorframe. 

“Derek is a puppy,” Scott said, obviously still stuck on that one point. 

“Yes, Scott. Derek is a puppy. No need to rescue Derek, because Derek is here and –ow, c’mon big guy, or okay, little guy, I’ll amend that for now, but I’m not a chew toy – So we’re all A-Okay. Yes Derek is a puppy, but he’s alive and well, healthy-ish, and we can fix this.” 

Carina looked at Stiles like he was a little bit insane, and said slowly, “okay, so you’re remarkably calm about this.” 

“No one is trying to currently kill or maim me or anyone I love. Or destroy the entire town I inhabit. This is fine. We can deal with this,” he shrugged, earning him another squinty-eyed look from Carina, as though she were re-assessing his sanity. Good luck with that one. 

“Stiles is right,” Scott said, stepping back out to the main room. “So we take him back with us. Are you going to continue on to your family, or come with us to Beacon Hills?” 

“I, uh. I don’t know. The wedding is in two days,” she glanced back at Stiles and still-in-the-cupboard-Derek. “I can’t just leave him though. It wouldn’t be right.” 

“So come with us, at least until the wedding, and maybe it’ll be fixed by then,” Scott said, ever optimistically. “Deaton might know something. He’s a vet. And a druid.” 

Stiles was rubbing his thumb over the adorably tiny and velvety soft head, smiling at the little puppy bump on his skull and listening to the little snuffling, almost whining sounds he was making. He wondered what puppy Derek would look like, beyond the blue eyes. He could feel the pointed little ears, and the stubby snout, but that was about it. 

“If we’re going to head back tonight, I’m going to need coffee in a bad way,” Stiles said, pulling his hand back slightly to see if Derek would follow. He did. 

“We probably should. Will you be okay to drive? We can take turns,” Scott was saying, but Stiles was paying more attention to encouraging puppy Derek out of the cupboard with his retreating hand in tiny little movements. Soon enough two little white tipped paws came in to view, and then a black snout with a tiny dusting of white under his chin. Derek’s eyes looked almost shockingly blue set against his soft, jet black fur, his pointed ears twitching a little as he listened to Scott and Carina in the next room. He lifted his lips in a small growl when Scott leaned in the doorway and froze with his hackles up, but allowed Stiles to smooth the pad of his thumb between his eyes until he closed them, almost fading in to the darkness as the blue disappeared behind his lids.

“We’re going to have to go separately,” Stiles sighed, smiling as the pup tumbled off the shelf and in to his lap. It took all Stiles had in him not to coo obnoxiously, his heart melting in his chest as the puppy righted itself, all ungainly limbs and fluffy fur. Derek was adorable. Heart-stoppingly adorable. Possibly the cutest puppy Stiles had ever seen. Scratch that. Definitely the cutest puppy he’d ever seen, particularly when he looked up and let out a little discontented yip, blinking like the light in the bathroom was too much for his big blue eyes.

“What why?” Scott asked, once he’d recovered from the sight of tiny Derek. Stiles didn’t blame him for needing a moment because really. Puppy!

“He isn’t going to get in a car with you two dude. Unfamiliar wolves or whatever. You’re making the little guy uncomfortable.” 

“Stiles,” Scott began, sounding slightly irritated, but he stopped when Stiles glared at him. 

“I can handle myself against the baby wolfie, Scott. It’s fine. We’ll stop by his car on the way, get some stuff that smells familiar… Carina, was he wearing one of the leather jackets?” 

“Yeah, of course he left it in the car, but actually his clothes he was wearing just kind of, disappeared I guess? He was in little kid clothes, but his actual adult clothes were no where to be found.”

“Huh. That’s weird. Maybe related to the spell or whatever is going on? If he turns back, will his clothes magically come back? I hope so, I don’t want to deal with a naked Derek,” Stiles grimaced. “That’s just too weird. I have a weird threshold, and that goes beyond it.” 

He manfully ignored Scott’s wildly sceptical look, and chose to believe that a naked Derek Hale would be weird, and that’s all. Definitely not attractive beyond all belief and likely to ruin Stiles for life. 

“He had a bag in the car though,” Carina said, ignoring Stiles’ ramble. “I don’t know where he was going.” 

That made Stiles a little sad, that Derek had spent days with Carina and never bothered to open up, but it also didn’t surprise him in the slightest. He did wonder if Derek was planning to stop by Beacon Hills, seeing as he’d be in California, and it’d been months since they’d seen him last. He scratched at the puppy’s head, smiling fondly when he began chewing on his fingers again. This was going to be a thing. He could tell. 

“Okay. You guys can drive up in Derek’s car, and I’ll take him in Roscoe?” 

“Doesn’t it make sense for you to take Derek in his own car? It’ll smell like him. Although, he doesn’t really smell like him right now,” Scott frowned, and edged a little closer, making a show of sniffing in the bathroom. “He kind of smells like himself, if you pay enough attention, but it’s different. It’s less… Oh God. Less ashy. Why did I never notice how Derek smells like fire before?” 

“I didn’t recognise his scent at all,” Carina offered, smoothing over the awkward and vaguely horrifying moment of realisation Scott –and now Stiles - were having, picking up the little bits and pieces she’d scattered around the room, stuffing them in to her bag. She tossed Derek’s car keys to Scott. “We’ll go move some of his stuff to, um. Roscoe?” 

“She’s my baby,” Stiles called out, ignoring Scott’s rolling eyes and little huff as he walked out the front door, glancing back almost sadly at the puppy. 

“Well little guy? Want to go on a road trip?” Stiles asked, holding Derek’s tiny little white paws and moving them up and down, smiling as Derek grumped and tried to chew on his hand to stop him. “Aww you’re so tiny and defenceless dude!” Stiles sang out, bopping Derek on his little cold, damp nose. Derek yipped at him, a displeased little sound, and Stiles had to laugh. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing you little wolfie. I’ll be nice,” he said, scooping a hand under Derek’s fluffy little butt and holding the wriggling puppy against his shoulder. “I’ll take care of you,” he added, brushing a hand down his softly furred back as puppy Derek shoved his cold nose against Stiles’ throat with a little contented whine. It made Stiles suddenly understand the meaning of the word bittersweet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving things along (I could probably write about puppy!Derek forever and always).

Chapter Three

It was about 3 hours in to the drive when Derek became unsettled; scratching his front paws at the little nest they’d built on the front seat of grown up Derek’s clothes. He’d whined, a high-pitched nasal sound when Stiles had first put him down amongst the clothing, and the sound had made the hair on Stiles’ neck stand on end, and Carina and Scott hovered nearby both looking pained. So Stiles had stripped out of his over-shirt and thrown that down on to the pile and it had quietened puppy Derek, though he took a while to settle. Presumably his tiredness overrode whatever it was he didn’t like about the nest. But now he was awake and scratching and whining, and Stiles was a little concerned puppy Derek needed to pee, so he flipped on his indicator for a few seconds before pulling over, watching in the rear-view mirror as Scott did the same with Derek’s car. 

“Pee break,” Stiles declared, lifting the pup out of the car and watching him snuffle through the grass on the side of the road. Derek did a little squatting thing to pee; not yet big enough to cock his leg, and Stiles was oddly charmed. He couldn’t equate the puppy with the man, so it felt okay to be charmed. He’d been concerned Derek would turn back in to a kid when he’d slept, but he’d stayed in his wolf form, and seemed content like this. 

“How’s he doing?” Scott asked, kicking his legs out to get blood flow back in them. 

“Okay. Sleeping mostly, but he started whining again a few minutes ago.” Stiles crouched down and let puppy Derek climb up in to his lap, laughing when the wolf started nipping at his jaw and general mouth area. “Dude! Teeth,” Stiles chastised, lifting his jaw up to stop Derek from chomping on his face. He looked towards Carina and Scott, who were both frowning at him, like he and Derek were a puzzle. 

“He might be hungry,” Scott finally said, looking to Carina. She nodded. 

“Yeah, baby wolves bite like that when they want feeding,” she agreed, but they both still looked a little wary. “What are you to Derek?” Carina finally blurted, earning herself a startled glance from Stiles. 

“Uh. Friends, of a sort. Allies? I don’t know. People who ended up in each other’s orbit, saving each other on occasion?” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Stiles said, feeling awkwardness settle over them, even as he pushed at Derek’s questing snout with his hand whenever it got too close to his face. “So, food for a puppy?” he asked after a too-long pause. 

“I could hunt?” Carina offered, gesturing to the woods.

“A bunny?” Stiles hissed, looking scandalised. “You can’t just feed him Thumper!” 

“He’s a wolf pup,” Carina said, completely flat and devoid of inflection. It was enough to make Stiles both glare and bristle all at once. 

“She’s got a point,” Scott said with a little shrug, even though the curl of his lip suggested he found it distasteful. “I mean, we don’t know what he was living off of in the old house.” 

“Ugh, fine. Go kill Thumper,” Stiles relented, holding Derek’s chin to make the puppy look at him. “You’re a beast. A savage,” he accused the little pup, who yipped at him happily in return. 

Derek would just about let Scott come closer now, but still wouldn’t let him within touching distance, which was improvement, Stiles supposed. They were sitting on the grass, leaning back against Roscoe, when Carina came back. She unwrapped a little parcel of fabric, Stiles noted it was a little bit of his shirt, which she’d ripped off, and damn it he liked that shirt, and laid it on the floor. There were dark red chunks of glistening meat, soaking blood in to the fabric. 

“I figured he’d be more likely to eat it if it smelled like you,” Carina explained, which okay, made sense. Stiles still grumbled though, until Carina giggled and promised to buy him a new shirt. An even better one. 

Little wolf Derek approached the food warily, nudging it with his nose and looked up at Stiles. His snout was now damp, but the blood was invisible against his dark fur. 

“I think he wants you-“ 

“I know, Scotty,” Stiles sighed, pulling the ripped bit of shirt between his splayed legs. “I’m basically his momma. He’s imprinted. Like a duckling, not like a Twilight wolf,” he hastened to add. He picked up a small bit of meat between his forefinger and thumb, and dangled it about. “Yum yum little guy, you want some bunny wabbit?”

Derek snarled, a happy snarl, if such a thing existed, and lunged for the meat in an uncoordinated move, landing short of the food with his front paws thumping down heavily. He tried again and finally snagged it, tugging the meat from Stiles hand and chomping on it with terrible table manners. He was all open mouthed and looking proud of himself. They continued this way until most of the food was gone, and Derek finally let himself be picked up and put back in his nest, which he settled in to with much less complaint this time. 

“Final stretch?” Scott said, rolling his neck. They’d been in the car for way too long today, and they were both feeling it. Though Scott wouldn’t get the residual aches because, well, werewolf. 

“Mm. Yeah, we’ll head straight to mine. You better not show up without a burger of some kind, and curly fries dude. I won’t let you in.” 

“Watching Derek eat Thumper make you hungry?” Scott asked, slightly hesitantly, trying for teasing but falling short. 

“Dude. No. What? Why would you even? Oh my god. It made you hungry didn’t it?” Stiles flapped a hand, his meaty hand, at Scott. 

“It smelled good,” Scott said defensively, scrunching his face up. 

“Tasted good too,” Carina called over from where she was ruffling through her bag. She threw a little pack of antibacterial hand wipes at Stiles, which he used gratefully, even as he grimaced at her. She skipped over and huffed a hot, meaty smelling breath in his face, and laughed as he cried out and stumbled back, waving his hands around madly. He’d made a sort of yelping, howling sound, and they all froze when they heard a response from the jeep, as Derek let out a tiny, teeny, little howl of his own, all croaky and high, breaking in places, but an unmistakeable howl nonetheless. 

“Oh my god,” Carina breathed out, the most adoring expression on her face. Stiles knew his own would look the same and even Scott had major heart-eyes going on. Stiles jolted back in to motion, hustling around to the passenger side and to Derek, petting him and calling him a good little wolfy. Derek yipped in response and chomped on Stiles’ thumb, and it was just the sweetest thing. Puppy Derek was so happy and proud of himself, and it struck Stiles’ for the first time how different Derek could have been under different circumstances. 

He mulled this over for the remainder of the drive, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel as he drove through the darkness and headed towards a darkened Beacon Hills, through the roads that were lined with forest on either side. At some point Derek woke up, but he settled soon enough when Stiles’ blanketed his head with his palm, massive looking over the little pup’s head. He scooped him up when he arrived at his home, and carried the sleeping wolf to the living room, leaving the door open and slumping back on the sofa with Derek on his stomach. Derek snuffled and shoved his nose against Stiles’ belly, sleepily rooting around like he was trying to get under Stiles’ shirt, but he gave up eventually and fell asleep again. It seemed like being a puppy was very tiring. 

Stiles realised he had never seen Derek sleep before. And that made him feel kind of sad. 

Puppy Derek didn’t wake up again, even when Stiles moved him on to his own cushion so he could go in to the kitchen with Scott and Carina when they arrived, and he slept right through the smell of delicious burgers and grease. His nose was pushed between two of the sofa cushions, and his legs were splayed flat out behind him. It was already 4am, so Stiles gave up on the idea of sleep, and sat with Scott and Carina around his laptop, researching the Bestiary (which Carina thought was amazing), and flicking through the limited books on magicks which Stiles had been trawling through during the on-going down time. 

They’d each been periodically checking in on Derek, just to keep an eye on things, and so far so good. At least until Scott yelped and backed out of the room with wild looking eyes. “He’s a kid,” Scott hissed, hands out in front of him as though to ward off attacks. Carina’s head shot up and she couldn’t have looked more ill at ease if she’d tried. Stiles sighed, and pushed away from his computer. 

“Is he dressed?” 

“No! Also? Not it!” 

“Scott McCall, you suck so badly,” Stiles whined, walking through to the front room just as Derek started blinking awake. He watched Derek push himself up to sitting with chubby little arms, slightly uncoordinated but mostly managing okay. He was thankfully wrapped loosely in a blanket. His dark hair was sticking about in tufts, and his eyes were solemn and framed by impossibly long dark lashes, making their polychromatic paleness even more beautiful. His mouth was a little pouty and small, turned down in a frown as he blinked sleepily, then sniffed the air. His head turned to Stiles, and his little baby frown eased up a little.

“Where’s Momma?” he asked quietly, shattering Stiles’ heart with two little words. He could remember being younger and waking up from a deep sleep full of happy dreams, and then remembering that his own mom wasn’t there anymore. It was like losing her every day, and the grief was sometimes insurmountable. He didn’t want to do that to this little Derek. 

“Do you know who I am?” Stiles asked, bypassing Derek’s question for now. Derek shook his head, but reached for Stiles anyway. 

“Mine,” Derek said, as Stiles lifted him in the swaddling, rubbing his face against Stiles as though marking him. “Smell safe.” 

“That’s good buddy,” Stiles said softly, cradling the back of little Derek’s head. “I’m Stiles,” he offered, introducing himself to the kid. He bounced Derek on his hip, and pulled back to look at him. “Can you say Stiles?” 

“Tiles,” Derek said, reaching out and patting Stiles’ jaw. It was close enough. “I smell wolves,” Derek said suddenly, with a little attempted growl. 

“Hey now, they are nice wolves. They’re my friends,” Stiles said, bopping Derek on the nose with his fingertip, then promptly melting at the scrunched up face Derek made at that. 

“They not pack,” Derek argued, clenching a fist in Stiles’ collar. “Momma says pack safe,” Derek explained, dropping words at random but mostly making sense. Stiles guessed he was around 2 or 3 years old maybe. He didn’t know much about child development, so he was really taking random guesses, but he was old enough to communicate at least a little, so that was a blessing at least. 

“Momma was right. Pack is safe,” Stiles sighed, moving and bopping aimlessly with Derek in his arms. “They’re my pack,” he hedged, opting to just include Carina. “They’re my pack and they’re safe too. Like me, remember?” 

Derek didn’t look entirely convinced, but he shoved his head under Stiles’ jaw, and took the collar of Stiles’ shirt in to his mouth, chewing it wetly. Apparently that wasn’t just a puppy behaviour, but a Derek one. “Kay,” he finally agreed, sounding muffled. Stiles winced at the feeling of the spit-wet shirt on his collarbone, and rubbed circles on Derek’s back. “Wanna come meet them?” 

Derek didn’t object, but he tensed in Stiles’ arms as he walked through to the kitchen, bringing Derek closer to Scott first. Derek looked at him and then hid his face in Stiles’ neck again. “Alpha,” he said quietly, holding still as Scott carefully ran his hand over Derek’s head, and then over Stiles. Stiles frowned at him, but Scott just shrugged, looking a little perplexed by his own behaviour. 

“That’s Scotty, my best friend, and my Alpha,” he walked to Carina, who didn’t touch Derek but inclined her head. “This is Carina. She’s my friend, and she’s friends with Cora too,” Stiles offered, flinching when Derek looked up with a scowl, sniffing Carina. 

“Who Cora?” he asked, and Stiles realised that Cora hadn’t been born yet when Derek was this age. She wouldn’t be born for another few years. “You smell like pack,” Derek said to Carina, glaring at her. 

“Uh, I know some of your pack,” Carina said carefully, with a little smile. 

“Where are they?” Derek asked, looking slightly down at her from his perch against Stiles’ shoulder. 

“Um. They’re around. Not in Beacon Hills anymore?” Carina said with that questioning inflection again, looking to Scott helplessly. 

“Remember Deaton?” Scott asked, stepping closer and ducking down to look at the boy. “Well, we’re going to see him soon,” Scott added with a friendly smile, friendlier than any smile he’d ever given Derek before. 

Derek seemed to find this acceptable, because he turned back to Stiles and patted his jaw again. “Want juice,” he ordered, then supervised imperiously as Stiles pulled down a travel mug because it wasn’t made of glass, and poured in some orange juice until Derek told him ‘when’. He sat with Derek on his lap and helped him drink the juice, making a note to get some straws if Derek was going to stick around like this. 

He took Derek to the front room again, and dressed him in the small clothes Carina had brought with them from before, noting they were actually Derek’s clothes only small. An entire little outfit in black and grey, Henley included. He let Derek chew on his fingers again with his blunt baby teeth whilst he continued tossing ideas around with Scott and Carina, until it was finally 9am and the vet would be open. By that point they’d decided on it being something witchy. A spell of some kind, because last time Derek was de-aged, it had been a spell. And what kind of bad luck did a guy need to have to have been de-aged not just once, but twice? It had to be some kind of record. One that hopefully Deaton could help with.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops late update! RL is no fun :( 
> 
> I'm keeping this short, so pacing might be weird. Apologies!

Stiles had opted for letting Scott drive, seeing as how Scott’s bike was still parked by the vet’s and he wasn’t sure if Carina could actually drive. Besides, someone needed to hold kid Derek, and Derek wasn’t really okay with having anyone else near him. So Stiles sat with Derek in his lap, fingers tightly crossed that they didn’t get pulled over, though if they did he hoped it would be his dad or Parrish or something because at least then he could kind of explain. But they made it to Deaton’s without incident, and the vet ushered them through to the back without question, simply raising a brow at the sight of Derek though whether it was surprise at seeing Derek as a child, or Derek back in Beacon Hills at all, Stiles couldn’t say. 

At least Deaton had been a little less close lipped since being held captive. He’d realised how important it was for Scott and the pack to know about the things they could be facing. Stiles definitely appreciated it, even if he knew the vet was still not sharing as much as he could be. A little was better than nothing. 

“So. This is Derek,” Deaton said, smiling at the boy as Stiles set him down on the metal table. Stiles rested his hand on top of Derek’s head, as the boy kicked his little legs and blinked up at Deaton. “Hi Derek, I’m Dr. Deaton.” 

“I ‘member,” Derek said, reaching for Stiles’ hand and shoving it in his mouth gracelessly. Stiles couldn’t even manage a sigh as his now sloppy hand; within the space of a night, it had become routine. 

“He likes you,” Deaton commented, standing upright again and turning towards one of the drawer sets. He pulled out a key, and handed it to Scott, asking him to go in to the office and in to the third drawer of his desk. “There will be a grey lock box, and inside that a wooden urn. Bring me the lock box please Scott,” he said, turning back to Derek. He proffered a stethoscope. “Mind if I take a listen?” 

Derek squirmed a little bit when Deaton pressed the cool metal to his chest, and looked up to Stiles, his eyes trending towards a slightly muddy, khaki kind of colour under the fluorescent lights. “Stiles, if you could open the lock box, there’s a small wooden urn with the Triskelion on it. Please open it up.” 

Stiles did as he was told, extricating his hand from Derek’s wet grip with a smile. He paused to run his fingers over the Hale family symbol with a frown, aware of Derek’s eyes latching on to the urn as he did, a worried little scowl on his face. Stiles frowned when he found the urn empty, save for what looked like 5 claws rattling around in there. He kind of wanted to recoil a little because that was disturbing.

“Those belonged to Talia Hale, Derek’s mother,” Deaton said calmly, checking Derek’s eyes even as the boy perked up at the mention of his mom. 

“What’s it? Momma’s?” 

“Yeah big guy, your mom,” Stiles said, reaching in and removing the claws, setting them on the table. He was smart enough to have realised these claws must have been all that was left of her after the fire. He had to wonder who’d retrieved them from the ashes; his money was on Derek, and it made his stomach roil when he looked at the little boy again.

“Derek, I’m going to need you to lie down, on the table please,” Deaton requested, taking Stiles by the arm and leading him to the head of the table. “We’ll need to tie him down, so please stay here Stiles. You’ll calm him down,” Deaton said quietly, even as Stiles tensed and opened his mouth to protest. “Stiles,” Deaton warned, gaze cutting to Derek as he blinked up at them, small body taut with a level tension no little kid should ever have to feel. 

“C’mon Der,” Stiles said with a sigh, gesturing for the boy. He scowled but clambered up and knee-walked over to Stiles, reaching out with stubby arms. As soon as he made contact he leaned up to nip at Stiles’ jaw, pulling away and patting it as though pleased with his work. He lay down on the table and rested his cheek on one chubby little hand, relaxing when Stiles brushed his hand over his head. The level of trust was astounding, and it scared Stiles a little, because he knew whatever was coming next was going to be unpleasant, if they had to use restraints.

“Will he be okay?” Carina asked quietly, from her perch over on a stool by the door. She’d been watching with rapt eyes the whole time. 

“He’ll be fine,” Deaton assured, pulling restraints out from under the table. It looked like some kind of creepy medical fetish table to Stiles, but he kept his mouth shut. It didn’t feel right to joke right now. 

“Scott, his ankles please,” Deaton directed, carefully enclosing Derek’s wrists in the restraints. The little boy was tense again and panting a little, and Stiles realised the kid might shift at any given moment. He looked ready to bolt, and understandably so. Deaton – who had yet to say what was going on, don’t think Stiles hadn’t noticed that - seemed to be aware of this though, because he apologised and stood in front of Scott and blew a fine grey powder over Derek. It made the boy sneeze, and covered Stiles with an ashy film. 

“This will prevent him from shifting. I’m sorry Derek, I do try to avoid ever using it,” Deaton explained, patting the boy on the leg. “Stiles. Keep his head still please,” Deaton asked, pulling down Derek’s shirt at the back to expose his nape fully. “Whatever is keeping him like this, it isn’t a sophisticated spell. It’s fumbling and confused, very amateurish. It should be easy enough to undo. I’m going to use his mother’s claws to unlock his memories. It should trigger the shift back in to adulthood,” Deaton said in that ever-present even tone of voice, yet sounding mildly vexed as he looked at the boy. 

Stiles placed his hand over Derek’s head, brushing his thumb lightly over the boy’s cheek and trying not to listen to him whimper. This had to be terrifying for him. Stiles knew Deaton, and trusted him well enough, but even he was a little afraid. Last time he’d been in here, holding someone down, it had been Lydia. And now Derek. The people he cared about kept ending up in situations like this. 

Deaton turned back with a wooden bowl of what looked like slime, a vaguely incandescent purple in the light and oil black in shadow. Just the sight of it made him feel uneasy. Deaton was humming under his breath, a slow and quiet hum that felt dragging and drugging, as he dipped each claw tip in to the viscous slick. They drooled on to the metal of the table, coating the remainder of each claw until they sat in a pool of the goo, looking strangely ominous. Deaton finally picked on up, the humming turned to lowly chanted words, lyrical and rolling off his tongue. Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off of Derek, whose own eyes were screwed shut and all of Stiles’ instincts wanted him to stop this, to protect little Derek and keep him safe from everything bad, but he knew he couldn’t do that. They needed to do this. 

Deaton inserted the first claw high on Derek’s nape carefully puncturing the skin. The area around it turned an ashen grey, and lines of black began to spread, like poisoned vines under his skin. Stiles made an abortive little sound of protest, but Deaton silenced him with a look, putting in the second and third claw, pushing them in to the skin with force. Derek was panting now, whining high in his throat and keening with increasing pitch until all five claws were embedded in his skin and his body began to convulse, pulling at the restraints with remarkable strength for such a small body. Until it wasn’t so small anymore. Between convulsions Derek’s body was changing, his bones shifting under his skin and growing, his muscles spasming and twitching, his voice going hoarse as he yelled out, biting through his lips and slamming his hands against the metal table, leaving dents and scratches in his wake. He was a child, then an adolescent, a teen, a young man, and then he was Derek, lying on the small scraps of tattered child’s clothing. 

He finally stilled, having ripped partially through the now far too tight restraints, his chest heaving but his body no longer fighting an invisible enemy. His skin was warming up, and the thread black veins were fading, flaring darker when his body gave a few last convulsions, and then slight twitches, but each fading until they were gone and he was still. The claws had fallen out during the fight, and he’d knocked the bowl over too, so his arm lay limp in a pool of the sticky fluid; Stiles didn’t like the look of it staining his skin, but he didn’t know it if was safe to touch Derek like this, so he left it. 

“He’ll be disoriented, and will need rest,” Deaton cautioned, dropping the claws back in to the urn and walking to his office, then returned with a grey blanket, which he draped over Derek’s naked frame. Carina and Scott flanked Stiles now, all three of them staring down at Derek whose body was wracked with fine tremors as he lay there, seemingly unconscious. 

“Maybe get him something to eat and drink?” Stiles suggested to Scott, feeling like Derek would hate to wake up to the three of them standing over him. He would have left too, but he didn’t feel able to. 

Scott and Carina seemed to pick up on it though, and both assured him they’d be back with food, and Deaton retreated out of the room with a sad smile and a last glance at Derek on the table. Stiles locked the door after them and sat on the stool Carina had vacated, pushing it with his foot over to sit by Derek’s head, undoing the restraints as he went around him, to let the blood flow back in to his extremities. 

As soon as he was freed, Derek curled up, facing away from Stiles in to a small ball, arms crossed over his stomach and his chin tucked in to keep his throat safe; he was protecting all his most vulnerable places, and it broke Stiles’ heart to watch. He laid a hand gently on Derek’s shoulder, not wanting to startle him, and held steady when Derek flinched away, and then shuddered, his breath coming in rasping pants and then in heaving sobs that made Stiles’ throat hurt in sympathy. It sounded like he was drowning in too much pain.

He brushed his thumb over Derek’s skin as the man cried, his face hidden and his body shaking, staying with him as the emotion hit some sort of crescendo and then as Derek gradually began to quieten, his body stilling and his breathing evening out somewhat. He kept his face hidden in the crook of his arm and just breathed, and Stiles breathed with him, both of them falling in to pattern together. 

“I felt it all over again,” Derek finally said, his voice soft and hoarse. “I felt them die. I felt the grief and the guilt, how alone I was. I am.” 

“Derek,” Stiles murmured, holding on to his shoulder. 

“You made me feel safe Stiles,” Derek murmured, sounding a little accusatory and a lot vulnerable. He took Stiles’ wrist without moving his head, and held Stiles’ hand, bringing them both to his face. His breath was hot and moist on Stiles’ hand, and he could feel Derek’s stubble and mouth on his skin as Derek pulled Stiles’ hand close against his lips, but they didn’t say anything more. They just sat together in silence, until Derek finally drifted off, body needing something resembling rest, and Stiles was finally safe to let his own tears fall.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I have no upload schedule, and am just winging this willy-nilly. Thank you to everyone who is reading and sticking with it though. 
> 
> And thank you for your lovely comments. Totally makes my day!
> 
> Sex and feels ahead...

Stiles offically hadn’t slept in almost 39 hours, had been through an unexpectedly emotional few hours, and he was really feeling it. He slumped face down on his bed, and shoved his face in to his pillow, already positive he was going to end up drooling. Carina was in a similar state in the guest room, having been introduced to his dad, who fed them both pizza (but the veggie kind), and sent them to bed with a stern look and spectacular use of his dad voice. Less intimidating than his sheriff voice, sure, and underpinned with exasperated fondness and caring, but it still made Stiles do as he was told. 

Mostly. 

Stiles shimmied out of his jeans lazily, trying not to have to actually move too much, before realising he hadn’t actually taken his shoes off yet. He kicked them off along with his jeans in a messy, flailing manoeuvre that was far more tiring than it should have been. It worked though, so he was counting it as a win. 

They’d left Deaton’s after Derek had been asleep for just over an hour, the man not even waking when Stiles carefully extricated his hand to unlock the door when Scott and Carina returned with food, and energy drinks loaded with electrolytes, just in case. They set them up on one of the side tables, and Deaton promised to look after Derek until he woke. 

It had been surprisingly difficult, but Stiles trusted Deaton enough to be able to leave and come home. He was so body slammed he wasn’t sure he could move for anything, so he lay in an ungainly sprawl on his front, thinking absently that he could probably do with changing his sheets at some point soon, his mind doing that thing where he was beyond exhausted and stuck in a loop of rambling inane thoughts. 

He opened one eye blearily when he heard his window open, and watched as Derek climbed in through the gap with an innate predatory grace, and closed his eyes again when Derek closed the window, deciding he was just too tired to question anything right now. Which is probably why he didn’t react when a cold nose pressed against his arm, where it was flung out and hanging half off the bed. He groped around blindly until he connected with Derek’s grown up wolfy head, which he patted and attempted to communicate with. Mostly it was just him mumbling nonsensical sounds. He thinks he might have been aiming for “good Derek,” but it came out as gibberish. Gibberish that he drooled his way through. 

Derek huffed out a warm breath on to Stiles face, and gently jumped up on to his bed, curling up at the foot of it and settling his head over on Stiles’ calf. Stiles thought about warning him he might get kicked if he was down there, but words were effort, and so he just lapsed in to sleep and figured Derek could fend for himself tonight. He was good at doing that.

But it was one of those nights where, despite overwhelming exhaustion, Stiles woke up repeatedly and frustratingly. He finally gave up after about 3 hours of broken sleep, realising he was just going to feel worse for it in the long run if he kept trying to force himself to sleep. Wolfy Derek glared at him balefully, but Stiles just scoffed and wiped his own wet cheek with the back of his hand. He scooted up and sat against his headboard, pulling his laptop on to his lap and loaded up Netflix, picking something bright and easy to watch, then set it back on the desk vaguely facing him. Mostly he just liked the sounds. They quietened his mind a little. 

Derek inched closer to his lap and chuffed out a strangely questioning sound, settling his head in Stiles’ lap. 

“Not tired huh?” Stiles asked, knowing Derek couldn’t reply. “Me either. Or I am. But never enough,” he sighed; rolling his head back and letting his eyes drift shut. 

He trailed his fingers through Derek’s fur, and smiled sleepily when Derek moved his head, taking Stiles’ hand gently between his teeth, nibbling on his skin and getting wolfy slobber all over the place. “You like chewing don’t you?” he asked, poking at Derek’s tongue with his finger and getting a little growl in return. 

He felt Derek using his forelegs to drag himself closer, until he was half draped on Stiles’ legs, still chewing on his hand and letting himself be petted. “You feel safer like this don’t you?” he asked quietly. The wolf paused for a moment, and then resumed his careful mouthing, which Stiles took as a yes. “I don’t blame you. I think I would too.” 

They sat there, until Stiles was tired enough to slump deeper in to his pillows, lying back with Derek’s head on his stomach, his hand still in Derek’s mouth, and fell asleep smiling at the fact that as Derek drifted off, the pressure of his teeth on Stiles’ fingers increased, as he was no longer consciously holding his jaws loose. It was strangely cute, and disconcertingly comforting. 

Stiles woke up alone with the sun hot in his room, which meant it was later than it usually was when he awoke. He kicked off his sheets and rolled out of bed, tugging a hand through his hair and pulling on sweat pants but leaving his feet bare and yesterday’s t-shirt on. He’d shower later, so it didn’t matter too much. He could hear voices downstairs, and belatedly remembered Carina staying over, and Derek being there when he fell asleep, so he at least went via the bathroom to brush his teeth. 

In the kitchen he found his dad sitting at the table with a mug of coffee, and a plate of rye toast with a boiled egg, a little pot of marmalade and some thin shavings of cheddar, and a little mound of grapes in a bowl. His dad was happily munching the surprisingly healthy breakfast, with Carina sat opposite him, her long hair piled up messily and the shirt Stiles had lent her falling off one shoulder. She had a cup in her hands too, and was feeding bits of ham to the big black wolf that was sitting at her feet, delicately taking the meat between his teeth, and chomping it down. Even as an adult wolf, Derek’s paws were white tipped, and he still had the little white chin and the band of white against his throat. His eyes were still vibrant blue against all the black, and he was still beautiful. As an adult, there was a solemnity to him, and a pride, that made him breath taking. 

The wolf stood and herded Stiles towards the coffee pot, nosing at his hip and chuffing, so Stiles did as he was told and got himself a mug and popped in some toast, still yawning. 

“Sleep well son?” his dad asked, looking somewhere between amused and relieved. 

“Yeah, actually, better than I have in a while.” 

“I’m glad,” the Sheriff said quietly, voice steady and sincere. He looked at wolf Derek with a fond smile, and nodded. “I’m glad.” 

Stiles couldn’t quite figure out what his dad meant by that, so he just applied himself to gulping down his coffee, smiling as Carina resumed feeding Derek ham and chatting with his dad, asking him a million questions about Beacon Hills and what it was like being Sheriff in a place full of supernaturals. His dad had lived a life full of Stiles and his rapid-fire questions and tangents, so he answered her seeming non-sequiturs with practised ease. He finally rose to go and get ready for his shift, pausing at the foot of the stairs to look at the wolf. 

“You sticking around a while Hale?” he asked. Derek chuffed out what could most readily be interpreted as an agreement, so his dad nodded, and headed up the stairs. 

“So. I’m going to head off to my cousins wedding,” Carina announced. “I’ll be there for a couple of days, but I’d like to come back, if that’s okay? I like it here, and I’d like to meet your pack please, if you don’t mind. I mean if I’m imposing then I’ll just head back to see Cora, but it’d be nice to stick around for just a little while, and Derek I hope you don’t mind if I borrow your car, but I don’t have one, and I guess you aren’t using yours right now, because paws, but if you do mind I can figure something else out, maybe a bus? They have buses here right? I think I saw a station when we came in.” 

Stiles blinked at her, and nodded. “It’s fine to stay. You’re welcome to keep using the guest room here. It’s nice having people around. And the pack would love to meet you. And yeah, use Derek’s car. Just dump all his stuff here first? In case he needs any of it. But go ahead, and just try not to wreck it,” he smiled, going through her list of questions in his mind as he spoke. He thought he’d covered everything, and he ignored Derek’s little whine and nip at his fingers. He might have been overstepping boundaries by granting her the use of Derek’s car, but it’s not like Derek could object right now, and if he didn’t have his car, he couldn’t leave. So there was that. 

Carina grinned at him and pulled him in to a squeezy hug, then patted Derek awkwardly on the head before bounding up the stairs. He sat in the kitchen with his coffee and Derek leaning against him until his Dad had left and Carina had driven off, and then he sat a while longer, feeling oddly bereft at the idea of Derek leaving again. When Derek padded upstairs, Stiles listened to him moving about above him, unsurprised when the Derek that came back down was walking on two legs and fully dressed. 

“Stiles,” he said quietly, pulling a chair around to face Stiles and dropping in to it. Their knees were brushing, almost interlocking, Stiles noticed, staring at them. “Stiles,” Derek tried again, a little firmer this time. 

“Are you staying?” Stiles asked, blurting it out, still looking at their knees. 

“Do you want me to?” Derek asked, sounding puzzled. 

Stiles frowned and glanced up at Derek through his lashes. “Does actually that matter to you?” he asked a little harshly. 

Derek looked at him, eyes tracking over his face. “You’re different. Harder,” he said, looking a little sad. 

“Life’ll do that to you,” Stiles quipped humourlessly, dropping his gaze back down. 

“What happened after I left?” 

“What always happens here Derek. Things didn’t magically get better. It wasn’t your fault they were bad in the first place. And this should prove it. You were gone, and we still had to keep on fighting,” Stiles burst out, aggravated. He pushed back and stood, stalking over to the counter and leaning against it. 

Derek made a frustrated little sound in the back of his throat, and walked over to Stiles, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder. Stiles stilled, holding his breath, then turned, grabbing Derek and pulling him close, hiding his face against the older man’s throat and clutching his back tightly, needing to hold on to something steady and solid. The ground had stopped feeling that way to him a long time ago, and he hadn’t realised his anchor was missing until this moment. Human or not, he needed this to keep him from ending up lost. 

Stiles could remember fleeting moments, where he’d looked at Derek and been taken aback by the man he was becoming. The steadfastness and loyalty he managed to keep hold of, even when he’d been hurt again and again, and no longer at an expense to himself. Stiles would ruin himself, grind himself to the bone, for the people he loved. Derek would fight, make the hard choices, but he stayed steady. Derek was a constant Stiles’ didn’t realise he was missing. 

He shook as Derek held him close, let Derek sooth him with quiet murmurs and fingers brushing through his hair. He shook as he mouthed at the fragile skin of Derek’s throat without making the conscious decision to do so, just wanting to taste the salt of Derek’s skin on his tongue. He wasn’t even sure if it was sex or comfort he was after, he just knew he needed Derek. He wanted to feel the rasp of stubble against his mouth, and so he did. He took that sensation, freely given to him when Derek stood still, then lifted his chin a little in acceptance, strong hands still holding Stiles close. 

He let Derek guide him upstairs, intent as clear as glass even if it was never spoken aloud. They closed the door behind them and cocooned themselves in their own little world. Derek trailed his hands over pale skin and lithe muscle, bared inch by inch as he stripped Stiles bare and laid him back on the bed, as their mouths sought each other in increasingly hungry desperation, clashing teeth and spit slick lips, inhaling heavily through their noses, breathing themselves in. They were surprisingly voracious; grasping and gripping, fighting to become one whole, rather than two broken halves. Greedy hands seeking warmth and connection, fingertips tasting a little like salt when Stiles sucked them in to his mouth, wanting Derek on his tongue. 

It was Derek who finally took charge, pinning a writhing and surging Stiles beneath him, dragging his mouth down his smooth jaw to bite and suck at the soft skin and taut muscle that lined Stiles’ throat. Derek’s growls reverberated through Stiles’ skin, until he finally reared up and yanked off his shirt, thumbing open the button of his jeans but leaving them mostly done up. Derek looked raw and sinuous, with lines of sleek muscle and powerful strength, all wrapped up in beautifully soft skin. He was breath taking.

Just the sight of him like this made Stiles feel mad, the urge to taste straying swiftly towards compulsion. Every mouthful of Derek, his sweat, his skin, was like a revelation. A gift, to be treasured and savoured. The intensity of it scared him a little, but he trusted Derek. And he cared for him, so much so that it swelled inside of Stiles chest. The pup he’d played with, the boy he’d held, the man who kept him steady. The wolf that kept him safe. He cared, so much more than he’d ever let himself realise, and he needed Derek like air right now. Even the moments when Derek pulled back, standing to kick out of his jeans, felt like too much distance, and Stiles wasn’t beyond making impatient sounds and grabbing for Derek’s wrists. 

Derek smiled softly at that and blanketed Stiles’ body with his own, pushing his way between his thighs and urging Stiles’ leg to curl around his hips, gripping the firm muscles of his thigh with a big hand, fingertips almost bruising in their strength. His mouth was constantly seeking more skin to kiss, and he licked a path down Stiles’ torso, up his thighs, trailing biting kisses as he moved. 

Derek finally – finally - pressed a closed mouth kiss to the shaft of Stiles’ achingly hard erection, humming lightly and nuzzling, inhaling Stiles’ scent and grazing the sensitive flesh with his stubble, just enough sensation to make Stiles’ cock pulse and kick with a mind of it’s own. Derek nuzzled Stiles once more, then engulfed him in warm wet heat that pulled a groan from Stiles’ chest, his tongue massaging against the underside of Stiles’ cock with unrelenting firm, hot pressure. Stiles undulated his body, pressing skin to skin where he could, rubbing and grinding up in to Derek’s mouth. His heart felt like it was fluttering in his throat and his breath was being sucked in and out of his lungs in a harsh tide, but fuck it felt amazing. 

He listened to Derek groan, a husky sound that hummed through his very being, sounding both strangely violent and desperate, and it made Stiles shiver and shudder in reply, sweat racing down his spine as aching heat pooled in his groin, leaving him choking and frantic. His want burned through him with caustic immediacy. Derek reached up and pressed his fingers against Stiles’ tongue, curling them in to his open and panting mouth, growling when Stiles began to suck wetly, mimicking the ministrations of Derek’s mouth. 

He moaned at the loss when Derek pulled his hand away, but was soon begging as Derek lightly applied pressure to his hole, just enough to garner a desperate groan from Stiles. Derek slid a finger inside of him, zeroing in on his prostate with absolute devastating accuracy and began massaging first gently, and then with increasing pressure as Stiles’ body began to move more wildly. His muscles were shuddering as he curled in on himself, raising his shoulders off the bed and arching his neck, near contorting and letting his head drop back as he came with his hand clutching tight to Derek’s, their fingers intertwined. He didn’t remember grabbing hold of Derek’s hand, or Derek taking hold of his, but he was thankful they had. 

When he could open his eyes, wet from the overwhelming orgasm, he pulled Derek up for a kiss, tasting himself on his lips and tongue. He clumsily flipped them both – or okay, pushed Derek back and clambered on top of him - settling himself back on Derek’s thighs, his own spent cock laying between his legs, softening and looking vulnerable. Derek reached out and rolled it between his fingertips, making Stiles hiss and his hips stutter forward, the last little beads of cum easing out of him. 

Stiles swiped them up with his fingertips, just a little dampness, and painted the head of Derek’s cock, mingling his own cum with the wet precursor to Derek’s. He wiggled back a little and hunched over, licking delicately at the slit of Derek’s erection, lapping them both up and watching Derek jolt. He’d never been with a guy before, never even really thought about it beyond abstract curiosity, but this was Derek. 

He could do this, with no fear, because it was Derek. 

He applied every bit of his oral fixation to Derek’s cock, licking, sucking, even lightly biting which made Derek snarl and bare his throat, until his mouth was flooded with Derek’s cum, salty and bitter and slick. It coated his tongue and his throat, so he shared the taste with Derek, licking in to the other man’s mouth and swallowing down the last of his little groans when their groins brushed together, Derek too over-sensitised for the contact. 

And Derek was perfect like this, wrapping himself around Stiles. He couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up when Derek took Stiles’ hand in his mouth and nibbled lightly. 

“Shut up,” Derek huffed, word’s muffled due to his mouthful of Stiles. 

“And I’m accused of having an oral fixation? Really dude,” he grinned, dropping a kiss to Derek’s bare shoulder. “You made the cutest puppy you know,” Stiles said, reaching up to brush his thumb at the skin between Derek’s eyes and his brow. Where his frown would usually be. “But I’m glad you’re back as you.” 

“Me too,” Derek said after a beat, kissing Stiles’ palm. “You still smell like safety to me Stiles. I think maybe you always have. I missed that, you know. Whilst I was gone.” 

“I missed you too big guy,” Stiles smiled, relaxing in to Derek’s hold. He realised that he could do this, and that they could have this, if they tried. They were better together, two broken pieces that fit around each other and made each other stronger. Like Kintsugi, their brokenness was beautiful.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is the end! Little, bitty epilogue!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who read, commented, left kudos... It's so hugely appreciated. 
> 
> I wanted to end this on a happy light note.

“So you thought it would be a good idea to try and kidnap a wolf and then what? Experiment on them?” Stiles asked, voice dry as a desert. If he could do that sassy eyebrow hike that Derek had perfected, he would so be doing it now. Thankfully, Derek had judgy enough eyebrows for the both of them. 

“It wasn’t like that!” the shorter guy protested. “We just wanted to see what would happen, if we could do it. We’d read the journal, and it sounded easy enough-” 

“I’m not seeing how that is any different than kidnapping a wolf and experimenting on them,” Scott interjected with a scowl. 

“We weren’t going to hurt anyone,” the taller guy finally said. “That was never our intention.” 

“But still with the kidnapping,” Carina added almost perkily, looking at the two men like they might just be the most stupid people to have ever existed. Well what do you know, she had judgy eyebrows too. 

“We thought werewolves were monsters!” the shorter guy tried, “we’d only heard the stories from the hunters, about how they were rabid and violent and dangerous. They said it was a kindness to put them down, and safer for, you know, people. Humans.” 

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Lydia said primly with a dangerous little smile on her lips. 

“So, wait, you thought you’d enchant yourselves with super strength, kidnap a werewolf – who, you believed were basically rabid monsters – and see what you could do with some kind of weird, lame-ass alchemy experiment? To try and get all the good with none of the ‘bad’? Why is this sounding like the kind of thing the Trio from Buffy would have done,” Stiles sighed, looking to Lydia. She rolled her eyes in commiseration with him. Because it really was that ridiculous. “How’d you do the strength thing? That bit sounds kind of cool at least.” 

“We had this spell, where you can channel what you want in to a rune, and within reason it would grant you it.” He shoved up his sleeve to show a rune tattooed on his forearm by his inner elbow. “But it only lasted for a couple of hours and it only works once, so…and we didn’t expect there to be another werewolf there. So I used a disabling spell I’d read, and I guess... it turned him in to a child. We, uh, we didn’t really know what it would do,” he admitted with a wince 

“Seriously. A couple of jackasses playing with magic, and runes, and alchemy? You’re lucky you didn’t get turned in to toads. Or werewolf chow,” Stiles scoffed. 

“We really are sorry,” the taller one offered, arranging his face in to an expression that was trying just too damn hard to be sincere. He was telegraphing it all over the place, his body all submissive and hunched in, his eyes downcast. It kind of made Stiles want to punch him. Instead he just continued glaring at them. 

“You don’t fuck around with magic, idiots. You don’t want to know what it can do, what it opens you up to. Believe me,” he said quietly, eyes brimming with intent. 

The two guys must have been at least aware enough to read something in his expression, because they paled and nodded, both swallowing thickly. “We just thought it would be fun, but we get it. Magic is bad. There a lot of scary stuff out there, and we don’t want a part of it.” 

“Never stop being grateful that you get to make that choice,” Derek finally spoke, his voice quiet and still dangerous enough that it even made Stiles stand up a little straighter. Sometimes it was like Derek’s quiet voice could hit a frequency that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, like some kind of atavistic fear response. It was seriously cool, as long as he was on your side. 

Both the guys blinked and nodded, keeping their eyes downcast. 

“Try anything like this again, come anywhere near me and mine,” Derek said, reaching a hand and curling it around the nape of Stiles’ neck, “and I will end you.” He brushed his thumb against the soft skin of Stiles’ nape, eliciting a different kind of shivery response from him. 

“Now get out of here,” Derek finished softly. 

The two guys scampered off, jumping in to their creepy kidnap van and peeling out of the car park without even pausing at the intersection. Stiles kind of hoped they’d get pulled over by one of his dad’s deputies for dangerous driving or something, because they’d definitely gotten off lightly. 

Derek and Deaton had tracked them down and the pack had all shown up for the confrontation, figuring strength in numbers was a safe bet in case these guys really were dangerous. Obviously that wasn’t the case. Along with Carina, who had happily returned to Beacon Hills after her familial obligations were fulfilled, and seemed like she wanted to stick around. She was trying to convince Cora to come back too. Derek being happy and seemingly intending to settle down here was going a long way towards doing that, but only time would tell. 

“Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf,” muttered Stiles with a smirk, watching the van tear down the main street and fade in to the distance. 

“Shut up Stiles,” Derek said fondly. Stiles took his hand and nipped on his fingers in response. 

“You know, I’m still the Alpha,” Scott said conversationally, if a little pointedly, earning himself a groan from Stiles and Lydia. 

“Yes Scotty, we know, you’re the biggest and baddest of all the wolves,” Stiles humoured him, looping an arm through Lydia’s and strolling towards their cars. 

“I don’t want to step on any toes,” Derek said quietly, standing by Scott and watching Stiles walk off. 

“You aren’t. Just keep him safe, and we’re fine. And Derek? I’m glad you make each other happy. He deserves some happy.” 

Derek smiled to himself, and turned to face Scott, realising the kid was definitely growing in to his own as an alpha. The pack came first, their happiness came first, and Derek thought maybe he could be a part of that too. 

“It’s a deal.”


End file.
